


Unsuited

by AnonEhouse



Category: Captain America (2011), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M, Strip Tease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-01
Updated: 2012-04-01
Packaged: 2017-11-02 21:38:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/373614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonEhouse/pseuds/AnonEhouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captain America does not kill people with his dick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unsuited

(If you are reading this on any PAY site this is a STOLEN WORK, the author has NOT Given Permission for it to be here. If you're paying to read it, you're being cheated too because you can read it on Archiveofourown for FREE.)

"What am I without the suit? Well, for one thing, a hell of a lot more fun at parties than you." 

Steve is completely out of patience with Stark's childish petulance. "In case you hadn't noticed, we're supposed to be forming a team to handle serious problems, not a dance hall troupe."

"I bet I dance better than you, too."

Steve is not going to punch Stark in his sneering mouth, although the temptation is there. "Fine, the next time there's a dance contest to save the world, you can be the hero."

"Oh, hey, that's a good idea. Dance contest, mano a mano! Are you up for it?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Yeah, I can see your problem... finding a girl tall enough to dance with you..."

Steve's not sure what the expression on his face is, but it seems to have momentarily shut Stark's mouth, so that's fine by him. He's thinking of Peggy and that... just makes him angry. Here's Stark possessing all the most incredible assets any man could have, and still being ungrateful. What Steve wouldn't have given for one dance with Peggy. "Yeah, that's right, Mr. Stark. I never learned how to dance. I was too busy learning how to take orders and fight to save my country."

"You know what? I think I'm going to go out and save the country by dancing. Better still, I'll save it by stripping! After all, I've put my ass on the line for it before, this time I'll get a round of applause!" Stark turns around and heads for the exit.

"Stark!" Steve looks around the room at the other members of his team. "He was joking, wasn't he?"

Natasha narrows her eyes. "I have seen Tony Stark dance while drunk. And wearing the Iron Man suit. It was... not a pretty sight."

Steve sighs. "Yeah, but... not taking off his clothes. That's... that really wouldn't be good for the Avengers' image, would it?" Steve can't believe that the world has changed _that_ much. 

Thor looks up from a Pop-Tart sandwich. "What is this 'stripping'?"

***

Steve looks at the clock. Stark's been gone for three hours. Theoretically, he's a grown man and ought to be able to take care of himself, but Natasha has been telling stories that have made Steve reevaluate the situation. It sounds as if Tony Stark is quite capable of holding his breath until he turns blue, or the equivalent. Steve gets up, grumbling. "I didn't enlist to be a babysitter." It's not reasonable and he's going to have a talk with Fury in the morning. Stark is off the team if Steve has any say about it. He has to be able to rely on his people, not coddle their tender feelings. But that's in the morning; until then, he's responsible for every member on his team and he's not going to let Tony Stark make a laughingstock out of the Avengers before they even have their first mission. "All right, I'm going to bring Stark back. Anyone have any ideas how I can find him?"

Natasha produces a small black box from ... somewhere Steve isn't looking too closely at. Her uniform... costume?... is undoubtedly practical from the standpoint of maneuverability, but it's a bit distracting, and he's trying to accustom himself to not noticing. She tosses it to him. "He's got a subdermal tracker in his neck."

Steve raises his eyebrows at that. "Does he know?"

Natasha shrugs. "Possibly not." 

Steve sighs. He can imagine the argument that discovery will cause. "Fine. I'm going to change into street clothes. Does anyone want to come with me?"

Clint looks up from a magazine he's been leafing through. "To see Tony Stark in the buff? I'll pass."

Steve glances around and gathers that the general consensus agrees with Clint. "I see we'll have to work on that. An Avenger should be able to face any sight, no matter how horrifying." He grins and heads for his room.

***

" _The Blue Oyster,_ of course." As an artist Steve is well aware of symbolism, erotic and otherwise, so he's not surprised when he enters the club to discover that the clientele as well as the employees are mostly men. Naturally Stark would choose a strip club for men where he could create an even more embarrassing photo opportunity than in one catering to women. Steve is rather bemused to recall that when he was a boy there were 'Pansy Clubs' in New York and now the wheel seems to have turned again. Not that he ever went in any of them. By the time he was old enough that he might have indulged his curiosity the Depression had changed everything and the clubs were gone.

He works his way through the well-populated, but not crowded past the posted occupancy limits, room, while smiling in the same professionally polite way he'd learned doing the USO shows. It lets people know he's not here to fraternize. He ignores the hopeful looks and heads for the bar.

"Beer please." Steve smiles at the bartender, who is smiling back as he gives Steve a beer and takes the money including what Steve's been told is a generous tip nowadays. Nothing wrong in being friendly. You get more flies with honey than vinegar and at the moment Tony Stark is an annoying fly he'd like to catch. "A friend of mine said he was thinking of coming here to dance. Tony's about so tall..." Steve holds out his hand at the approximate level of Stark's head. "Dark hair and eyes." 

"It's amateur night, all right. I'm pretty sure they've got enough sign-ups to start soon, but no one gives their right name, so I can't tell you if your friend's here."

"I don't want to miss him, if he's gone to another club. He's really too old to be doing this sort of thing. I'm afraid he's going to be embarrassed." Steve smiles his best guileless, good guy smile. If he's lucky he'll be able to ... well, not talk common sense into Stark, but get him angry enough to get them both thrown out of the club before the stripping starts.

"Well, tell me more about what he looks like. I was watching the sign-ups." The bartender seems in no hurry to move away from Steve.

"He's in his forties. Fairly good shape, well defined muscle tone in his arms, at least. He's got a beard. His hair's kinda messy... but it looks good on him. He was wearing black jeans and a shirt that said 'Black Sabbath' on it."

"Oh, yeah. That's the guy with the gimmick-- the Iron Man light on his chest. It's a pretty good one, too. He's really rockin' the goatee, the whole attitude. I think he'll be popular."

"Oh. Yeah, well, that's Tony. He likes to be popular." Steve isn't sure whether to laugh or not that Stark's been taken for an Iron Man impersonator. Steve finishes his beer and starts circulating, looking for Stark. Since a lot of other people are circulating, it's a slow process, and he's only checked out about half the room before the lights dim. There's a drum roll and then a series of colored spot lights dance on a shiny steel pole set in an elevated runway jutting out into the room. A man steps up to a microphone. "And now, the first of this evening's contestants: The Blue Oyster welcomes Brazen, the Wonder Boy!"

Raucous, grating music blares, accompanied by a raucous, grating voice declaring, "I AM IRON MAN."

"Oh, crap," Steve says softly as Stark seems to materialize out of the darkness, at first just a pale face and arms, lit from below by the blue glow on his chest not quite hidden by his shirt. Stark is barefoot, and very probably drunk. Unfortunately, he's not falling down drunk. His eyes meet Steve's and his grin widens.

Stark throws Steve a kiss and continues to keep his gaze locked on Steve's face as he... well, basically mimes fornication in time to music with the help of the pole for some of the more athletic poses. Stark is... more bendy than Steve expected. The shamelessness however is no surprise. Steve could use another beer. His throat is getting really dry.

Tony... no. _Stark_ undoes the button and zip on his jeans while continuing to gyrate. Steve is mildly impressed by the degree of coordination. It's a shame that he's going to have to be kicked off the team. After all, he must have some discipline in order to have devoted the time to learn ... yeah... the jeans come down, and are kicked flying off the stage. Stark's shirt rides up revealing what must be red silk underpants... they're probably not as expensive as he imagines because there's very, very little fabric involved. 

Stark is much more fit than he'd have guessed. The muscular control necessary to clench each side of his buttocks alternately in time to music highlights that fact. And then the shirt comes off, and is thrown in Steve's general direction. Without conscious thought he lunges to catch it. No, he was probably thinking he'd need it to cover up Stark later... after... 

The reactor is brighter without the disguising shirt. Steve's eyes are very good. He can make out the tracery of scars around it, silvery lines scattered outward in a pattern he recognizes from the war. Stark had been close when it went off. It's a wonder he didn't die. But then, Steve's been told only the good die young, and the filthy, filthy things Stark is doing with his hands on himself, on the red silk which is far too small, and must be uncomfortable... well, Stark is obviously not good. But he is actually quite beautiful when he's smiling and not being a pain in the ass. Come to think of it... he might even be beautiful _while_ he's being a pain in the ass. Steve is reluctant to give up on a teammate as hopeless. Perhaps Stark might be taken in hand. Given guidance. 

The scrap of red silk goes flying. It's intercepted by someone else before Steve can reach it, because he's distracted. That's... actually... very pretty. Steve's seen his fair share of naked men under all sorts of conditions, and counts himself something of a connoisseur, in an artistic sense, that is. Stark's dick is an attractive color and stretches up agreeably in a nice smooth long curve decorated by the pattern of veins that Steve knows would feel good against the palms of his hands. Stark's balls are nicely rounded, evenly balanced and... Steve suspects they've been shaved. A closer look reveals a neat job of shaving elsewhere, which just... well, maybe hair is uncomfortable under the Iron Man suit? Does he go naked under it? Does the metal warm and feel good against his skin?

Steve is glad he's wearing civvies. He'd be very uncomfortable in his Captain America costume at the moment.

Stark does a back bend while, well... basically humping the pole, and freezes there, panting and looking up at Steve through really thick dark eyelashes. The music ends with a crash, and someone or other who works at the place comes up on stage while the audience applauds. Tony...Stark... Tony... oh, hell, _Tony_ grins and says dirty, dirty things to the man while people throw money on the stage and whistle and catcall, and damn, but Tony _preens_ under the attention. The man has absolutely not one ounce of shame in his whole, entire, pretty, sexy body.

Steve moves through the crowd toward the stage. He finds Tony's jeans and doesn't even have to ask the man holding them to hand them to him. Tony is still on stage, making a totally unnecessary production out of bending over to pick up the money. He's keeping his knees straight and really, showing off what yoga can do even when you're not a young man any longer. Steve thinks he should start taking yoga classes. He doesn't want to seem inflexible. There's a lot of good things about the current times, after all. A man should take advantage of his opportunities.

Tony descends from the stage with a fistful of dollars and an evil grin. "Too bad you didn't show up in time to sign up for the contest. Now we'll never know who's the better man."

Steve laughs. "You win the _dancing_ contest."

Tony's grin fades. "Are you upping the stakes?"

Steve holds Tony's clothes out to him. "Yes. Unless you're too ... tired."

Tony blinks, one long slow sweep of eyelashes, and then he moves into Steve's space and grins up at him. Barefoot, Tony is a lot shorter than Steve, but somehow the idea of 'cuddly' doesn't go with the feral look Tony gives him. Steve resists the impulse to put his hands down to cover his crotch, which is at a convenient height for mayhem, if Tony should decide to choose this moment to attack.

"We'll discuss it. I want coffee and a doughnut."

"Tony, it's two a.m."

Tony takes the clothes and gets dressed without any frills or wasted motion. "Consider it a test of resourcefulness." Tony heads for the bar and stuffs all the money into the tip jar. "I need my shoes back, now, Frank."

***

Steve thinks it's rather surreal having coffee and doughnuts, surprisingly good homemade doughnuts, at the 7th Avenue Donut Shop in the small hours of the morning with a surprisingly quiet Tony Stark. Halfway through his second chocolate glazed doughnut Tony says quietly, "Dad always liked you best."

Steve drops his cruller into his coffee. "What?"

Tony doesn't look up at him. "He kept everything. The comic books. The prototype shield. He never stopped looking for you. He even set up an unbreakable fund to keep the search going after he died." Tony picks up a napkin and begins tearing it to shreds. "So. Were you lovers?"

"Tony, no. I liked Howard, but no. It never even crossed my mind."

"I bet it crossed his." Tony is reducing the shreds to fluff. "Dad and I always liked the same things."

Steve reaches out and puts his hand over Tony's, stilling the napkin disintegration. "Tony. You're not your father. I'd like to get to know you better, but I already know I could never, ever, mistake you for him."

Tony finally looks up and meets Steve's eyes. He's silent for a long moment. "This is probably a very bad idea." Then he leans across the table and kisses Steve. He tastes of chocolate and coffee and whiskey. Steve could get to like the combination, very easily. The kiss is brief, and then Tony sits back. "So. Are we doing this?"

"Yes." Steve gets up. He's not at all sure about this, but he wants it. He hasn't really wanted anything in a long time. It probably is a huge mistake and will blow up in his face, and he _does not care_. "We can find a room." Steve has never rented a hotel room at three in the morning, much less with a hot-eyed libertine at his side, but if you can get fresh doughnuts, he's pretty sure he can get a room.

"We could." Tony gets up and again, he's challenging Steve with his eyes, totally unintimidated by the difference in their height, by the knowledge how much stronger Steve is than him. Steve finds this incredibly arousing. "We could find an alley even easier."

Steve's mouth is dry again, and his slacks are tight. "You do like to live dangerously." 

Tony flashes him a smile that looks genuine for once. "Of course I do, Sugarplum. Don't you?"

"I suppose I do." Steve reaches out and takes Tony's hand. "Let's find a nice alley."

***

Wandering around Brooklyn at three in the morning checking out alleys is not at all romantic. It's dirty and sleazy, and Steve's senses are on hyper-alert because Tony is obviously so focused on him, muttering filthy words and absurd endearments all the while his hands keep reaching out to touch, to brush, to grope and then dart away. Tony could fall down an open manhole without noticing, much less bother to check if there are policemen patrolling or muggers approaching so Steve has to be watching out for both of them. He's not sure whether this is bravado, a death-wish, or simply the way Tony is when he's caught up in a project, but it's dangerous, and stupid, and so damn hot that Steve finally grabs Tony's arm at the entrance of the eighth alley that Tony's approached to analyze and refuse to use for various idiotic reasons.

"Alleys _smell_ , all right? People throw garbage in them, stray animals crap in them, derelicts piss in them." He pushes Tony against a dirty brick wall and kisses him hard, moving with and against the beard, smooth as fur one way, bristly the other. Resistance melts under Steve's hands. He pulls back just enough to breathe his words into Tony's mouth. "People get fucked in them." He feels Tony's immediate response to that, pushing urgently against him. He nuzzles Tony's neck and stops Tony from sliding down to the ground. "Don't want you kneeling here. It's dirty. And the cement's hard." Steve doesn't know if Tony has had tetanus shots recently. Probably not. And considering the number of times he's been cut up by metal in assorted degrees of cleanliness, that's an oversight Steve intends to correct. Later. Tony has been refusing to let SHIELD doctors give him a checkup, but Steve's pretty sure he'll figure out a way to convince him. Threats probably won't work, but bribery now seems a viable alternative.

Tony moans and rubs against Steve. Steve keeps Tony pinned against the wall, pushing up until Tony's feet are dangling above the cement and his throat is at a convenient height for Steve to lick and suck on, hard. He wants to leave a mark, wants to be sure Tony will remember him when the sun is up. Wants to be sure Tony won't be able to tell himself this didn't really happen. He really wants to fuck Tony, but he didn't come prepared for that and he knows how big he is. There's leaving reminders, and there's risking serious injury. And since Tony is an idiot about his health according to Natasha's stories, he probably wouldn't mention something like peritonitis until he keeled over. Captain America does not kill people with his dick. He decides to say that aloud, as it's quite important. "Captain America does not kill people with his dick."

Tony laughs and pushes his hand between them to unzip Steve's trousers. Steve's dick approves heartily, leaping up against Tony's hand. "Fuck. Yeah, I get your point."

Steve moans. "Next time. In a proper bed. With supplies."

"Mmm..." Tony gets his own trousers open somehow despite the lack of space. "I'm going to hold you to that." Tony's arms go around Steve's waist, his hands reaching down to cup ass-cheeks. "And how about this? Could I fuck you?"

"Sure. Fine." Steve rolls his hips and rubs against Tony. It's awkward, and ragged and he really can't get a good rhythm up, what with being distracted by the fact that Tony's back is covered only by a worn thin t-shirt and the bricks are very rough. "You've got a pretty dick. I'd like that."

"Pretty?" Tony sounds as if he's trying to be insulted, but in between gasps and moans, Steve is sure he's actually not minding. "I have an awesome dick. I could show you signed affidavits..."

"Yeah, sure." Steve kisses Tony hard and ruts against him with more force. "Got any etchings?"

Tony's head falls back against the bricks with a thump. "Mmm... think so... oh, yeah, right there. Got a Picasso etching in storage somewhere..."

"In storage?" Steve has got the angles figured out now. He's moving faster, and Tony is trying to cooperate, so things are moving along nicely. "Where no one can see it? Something like that should be shared with the world."

"Oh, yeah, fine. More." Tony doesn't seem to be listening. His hands are clawing down Steve's back, rumpling his shirt badly. "Sharing. Sharing is good. Fuck yeah." Tony's legs come up and wrap around Steve's waist. "How's this? This is good, right?"

Steve groans and slams Tony against the wall as he comes hard. Tony yells and jerks in Steve's grip, apparently in tune with him. Somewhere, not far enough away, Steve hears a police whistle. He catches his breath and moves away from the wall, with Tony still clinging to him. "Tony. Tony, the police are coming."

"MMM?" Tony's head is on Steve's shoulder, heavy and warm. "Fine. Everybody should come. It's nice."

Steve sighs. "Tony, if Captain America and Iron Man get arrested for public indecency it will be very embarrassing."

Tony nuzzles Steve's sweaty shirt at the collarbone. "If they take photos, I want an eight by ten for my desk."

"If they take photos, Fury will kill us."

"No, he likes you. He'd only kill me." Tony finds a bit of skin not covered by shirt and licks.

"Pepper will be annoyed."

"Oh, shit, yeah." Tony's legs unlock and he disengages from Steve and stands up, wavering, but on his own two feet. "Pepper... yeah, she'll... _frown_. I mean, an open relationship is one thing and she knows what I'm like so it's no surprise to her. And hey, it's _you_. Who could expect me to resist?" Tony is pulling himself together, tucking and zipping. His shirt is a mess. Steve finds a couple paper napkins from the donut shop in his shirt pocket and wipes Tony down, which at best disguises things a bit. "But she hates when bad publicity makes the stock drop. It offends her sense of business ethics, I think. But, you know, I'm not sure, after all, you're Captain America. Might make the stock rise."

Steve has stopped listening to Tony ramble. He's got both of them tidied away as best he can. "Come on. Time to go home."

"Yes, dear," Tony says, leaning into Steve's arm. His eyes are closed and his whole body is warm and relaxed. "Could we go back and get some more coffee? I feel like coffee. And a cruller."

Steve gives in to the urge to ruffle Tony's hair, now that he's mellow enough to make it safe. "No. It's time for all good little Avengers to be in bed."

"Mmm. And what about me? I'm a bad little Avenger."

"We'll work on that." Steve wraps an arm around Tony's waist and leads him out of the alley. So it's four a.m. in Brooklyn and he's got a drunk and debauched teammate on his hands. He can work with that. He doesn't mind at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Having just finished a pretty much gen angst kid fic series, I felt an urge for something entirely different. For my next trick, I think possibly there will be some cracky silly stuff.


End file.
